Dreamscape
by live.die.be
Summary: Of starlight laughter, games and shadows. "The price to play is very, very high."


**Disclaimer- **_I don't own Kingdom Hearts._

**Author's Note- **_This is such a weird story. Depending on how I feel, I might make it a twoshot or threeshot. Who knows. We'll see. Enjoy._

* * *

**Dreamscape**

* * *

_Let's play pretend and then everything will be all right._

_I remember how much you liked games._

_Just... shut your eyes tight so you don't see; shut your ears so you don't hear; and don't think at all. Maybe that way it won't hurt._

_Maybe._

_You know it still will, though. Pretending won't change that._

_We're what dreams are made of._

_We're what nightmares are made of._

* * *

**I.**

Laughter, like starlight.

Airy, like the reflection of the moon on the water. Intangible, untouchable- is it a memory of him? Is it a reflection of the past, or is he really there?

But he can't be, and he knows this.

* * *

**II.**

The sing-song tune of a nursery rhyme, chanted into the black of night, _Darkness_, all consuming as it drenches the world in its shadow.

And it's sung in a child's voice, playful, unknowing of what's lurking close in the shadows just behind, hiding in the Dark nearby. (_Waiting_.)

* * *

**III.**

_"Ring around the rosy,_

_A pocket full of posy_."

* * *

**IV.**

He watches in silence (a spectator, _quiet_) like a ghost, and maybe, just maybe, that is what he is. Maybe, just maybe, he isn't real.

(And doesn't he know that it's the truth, the truth he hates but can't change. Because how can a ghost change anything when they aren't even real?)

(How can a ghost touch anything when everything that they touch turns to ice?)

* * *

**V.**

The answer: _They can't_.

* * *

**VI.**

And in the Darkness, a glimpse of red.

(Red hair? Or blood?)

Sparkling in the dim Light cast down by the moon, illuminating the world with an ethereal glow. (Leaving the shadows untouched; leaving the shadows as black as pitch, as tar, as oil-clinging, cloying.)

* * *

**VII.**

And it's always shadows, always Darkness. That's where it all started, where it all began, so long ago. (_Where it will all end_, whispers a voice in his mind.)

Light is warm; it's goodness and happiness and everything in the world that is wonderful. It's life itself.

(_The seven holy virtues_.)

Darkness is cold; Darkness is ice. Darkness is murder and greed, and all the sins wrapped into one horrifying package.

(_The seven deadly sins_.)

* * *

**VIII.**

"I love you."

Whispered into the quiet of night as he observes, unnoticed. (He's invisible.)

He watches- watches him with his bare skin glowing white in the moon, brown hair glinting with water dripping off the ends (ocean water), the tide rippling around him softly. He listens to the splashing of feet in the shadows, in the water, the sound of laughter. (Like starlight.)

(He is _everything_.)

* * *

**IX.**

And he approaches, because while temptation is sweet, indulging is even sweeter.

He's surprise; blue eyes widening with shock, and just a touch of horror. Glassy, gleaming in the light of the moon reflecting off the water.

A glimmer of silver hair, a flash, moving quickly and he's behind him, fingers on thin arms like a vice.

"_Sora_."

* * *

**X.**

"Did you miss me?" he whispers into the silence, sing-song, like a bedtime story told just before sleep.

The boy in his arms doesn't respond- frozen, frightened. He's been gone for so long that it's a shock to see him.

He is very still, this boy, and when he speaks it's quiet, unsure, and just one word. "Riku?"

A kiss- pressed to a bare collarbone, with just a hint of teeth, a warning. "I missed you," Riku murmurs against pale skin.

* * *

**XI.**

He takes one breath, and he opens his eyes, so blue, so bright.

He lives in his memories of things _Before_.

How long, tapered white fingers felt, sliding up narrow hipbones, razor sharp under skin like silk stretched over glass. How those fingers felt running up an equally white ribcage, each bone clearly visible. Felt smooth, cool, like oil on skin; soft, pale hands- uncallused, unmarked- slipping across a finely muscled back.

Or his lips when he kissed him- sweet-sweet like honey on a hot summers day, melting and warm and smooth.

* * *

**XII.  
**  
But now it's painful fingers gripping too tight; teeth biting at his shoulder hard enough to make him bleed.

And it's blood, blood, blood- red like rubies, roses, wine; (Such an appealing shade of crimson.) staining Sora's skin as little trickles of it flow from a bite mark on his shoulder. Fingernails sink into the pale flesh of his thigh as Riku pulls his head back for a kiss.

Sora moans. Because he likes the pain, and he likes this. Because it's Riku who he loves unconditionally, always, _always_.

He likes that even after so long, Riku tastes the same. Riku is the same.

(But Sora can't see the shadows that cling to Riku like a second skin; shadows with red eyes and clashing claws. Ready to attack when the word is whispered.)

(Sora doesn't know that Riku is so much more than he was.)

* * *

**XIII.**

"Sora." A whisper in the silence.

And then Riku steps away-silently, quickly- and his eyes flicker Heartless-amber-yellow as he whispers, "_Now_."

The shadows lunge forward, taking hold of Sora instantly, their claws slashing long gouges into his skin.

(Red-red blood on white-white skin, and it's such a beautiful contrast.)

(Riku is an _artist_.)

"I'm sorry," he says dispassionately, observing with empty eyes. Distantly he can hear Sora screaming in pain, but it's muffled, like he's underwater.

(His eyes are amber and his Heart is black-black-black.)

* * *

**XIV.**

A whimper, since he's long stopped screaming. The shadows have left by some unspoken command by their master.

Footsteps, soft in the sand as a pale figure kneels down next to the remains of the boy. (The Hero, though he's not so heroic anymore.) He makes a disapproving sound, reaching up and pushing blood stained brown hair out of the pale face.

"_Why_?" His voice rough from overuse (from _screaming_), and he barely manages to get the word out before he coughs, blood spilling from his lips onto his chin.

Riku smiles, and it's unhinged- the smile of someone who has lost their mind. (The smile of someone who has given into the Darkness completely.)

"Because it was a game."

Sora laughs then, though it hurts, the sound full of pain, the lacerations across his body making any movement painful.

"You're not Riku."

* * *

**XV.**

"There's a reason people tell you not to sell your Soul to the devil, you know."

(Sell your Soul to the Darkness, and you can be_great_. Sell your Soul to the Darkness, and you can be _everything_you've ever wanted.)

He hums, and reaches down, sinking razor sharp fingernails into pale skin.

As Sora screams, Riku laughs.

Blood runs in rivulets down his side, down from the crudely drawn imitation of a Heart that has been sliced into his skin by Riku's nails.

"I love you!" Riku exclaims in a child's voice- sing-song, playful. (Insane.)

* * *

**XVI.**

Sora pants, and his world right now is pain. _It-hurts-it-hurts-it-hurts, _and _Somebody-please-make-it-stop_.

He thinks he might get his wish soon as his vision starts to blur. Before the world goes black, he manages to whisper, "I hate you."

* * *

**XVII.**

When Sora's eyes close, Riku leans forward, and presses a kiss to bloody, blue-tinged lips. (Both their skin is the icy cool of death.)

"I love you," he says and he sounds a little less stable, shakier. And he is shaky; the hands that are cupping Sora's face are trembling.

"I love you."

* * *

**XVIII.**

Once upon a time there was a boy named Sora, and he was a Hero in love with life. He had a Heart big enough for all the worlds, and his smile could light up the night sky.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Riku, and he was in love with the Hero. He gave away his Soul to the Darkness, and he lost everything that made him _him_.

They had been in love, _Before_, and they had said they would be together forever. But then the Darkness happened, and everything happened, and Riku lost his Heart.

(Sell yourself to the Darkness, and you can have _anything_. The price is only the thing that you hold most dear.)

("_Sora_.")

* * *

**XIX.**

And really, it was just a game. A game of pretend, and loss, and death- a game where the winner is just as much of a loser as the ones who really lost. (Lost their lives; their Souls.)

(Sometimes, the price to play is very, very high.)

Sometimes, the price to pay is everything you are.

* * *

**XX.**

_Ashes. Ashes._

_We_ all _fall down..._


End file.
